


Eyes of Red, Bonds of Blood

by Krissy_of_the_island



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Dunmer - Freeform, F/M, Fighter's Guild
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-22 16:11:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13767744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krissy_of_the_island/pseuds/Krissy_of_the_island
Summary: Modryn Oreyn, Champion of the Fighters' Guild, is fighting an uphill battle trying to keep the guild running after a bout of phenomenally bad luck. He has no time for fun, or friends, or gods forbid, love. Then in walks a stranger with a pair of red eyes and a story to tell. Things can only go downhill from there.





	1. Chorrol, Fighters' Guild

### Chapter 1

_...in which we find ourselves in Chorrol with our brooding Champion._

Modryn Oreyn, Champion of the Fighter’s Guild and second-in-command to the guildmaster, would have been the first to admit that he wasn’t the easiest person to get along with. He was utterly devoted to the guild and as solid as they came in a fight, but socially… perhaps a bit of a challenge. On the best of days, he was prickly, had no sense of humour, and boasted the lowest tolerance for fools in all of Tamriel. People tended to give him his space after having been mowed down by his slashing commentary once. On the worst days, even his friends avoided unnecessary contact with him. So by the time he realised that the newest recruits had been going out of their way to stay out of _his_ for the past _week_ , Oreyn had to admit he’d probably stormed over the line separating annoyed from angry and gone straight on to utterly furious without a moment’s pause.

It was just that nothing was going as it should! Had Oreyn been a more spiritual mer, he would have said they’d all been cursed, the whole lot of them. To say that the guild was in a sorry state was like calling a sandstorm a bit of a rough breeze – especially when you were already buried up to your ears in the dune that wasn’t there yesterday. New recruits weren’t exactly lining up at the door. The flow of contracts had dried to a trickle. The last big mission had turned into a complete rout and they’d lost more men in one day than in the whole damned year prior! The Master had been inconsolable, devastated at the loss of her eldest son, and most of the day-to-day workload had landed squarely on Oreyn’s shoulders as the result. He didn’t really mind it – Vitellus had been a good man and a good comrade-at-arms, and if Oreyn could help Vilena carry some of the burden after such a blow, he would do it, and gladly. But the more he tried to balance the accounts and keep things afloat, the less he believed he could actually do it. He wasn’t cut out for the minutiae of administration and couldn’t help but feel that the guild was reeling from one disaster to another like a drunken sailor under his guidance, and all it would take for them to fall was one good push.

Hence the gradual shift from his customary annoyance at the world in general to smouldering anger and frustration, and ultimately to full-blown fury at the gods-damned injustice of it all. Things shouldn’t be like this! He couldn’t understand why the odds suddenly seemed stacked against the Fighters’ Guild. Something wasn’t right, he could feel it in his bones. Something wasn’t right, and when he figured out what, or who, was behind this, there would be hell to pay.

Disheartened by the state of the guild and the apparent lack of a solution to a problem that was growing by the day, Oreyn was brooding at the table, hunched over a goblet of Tamika’s finest, when he heard the tell-tale creak of the front door. _Someone should finally fix that blasted hinge_ , he thought with annoyance, looking up from his cup with a vicious frown at the latest person to annoy him.

He was somewhat surprised to see that it wasn’t any of the regular culprits this time. Not Sabine with her clanking hammers and strong opinions. Not Kurz or Lum, or even Vilena, who’d used to burst into the guild hall with the force of a hurricane but these days tended to slink in like a ghost, like she wasn’t quite sure she was supposed to be here. No, this was someone new, a total stranger in Oreyn’s eyes.

That, in and of itself, annoyed him even more. He had problems enough with the people he knew. He didn’t need complete strangers to add to the mix.

Well. She certainly wasn’t much to look at, was she – a waif scrawny enough to make it hard for Oreyn to determine that yes, she was in fact female. And obviously timid, holy Azura, the girl just hovered there for the longest time, as if she wasn’t certain if she was allowed to enter the guild hall at all.

Not a recruit, then. Definitely not a recruit, if her determination ended at the hall’s bloody doorstep.

“Come in or get out, but close the damned door! You’re letting the cold in”, he finally snapped, unable to help himself. This hadn’t been a good day to begin with, and some nobody with the courage of a mouse letting in the draft wasn’t helping his temper. The girl jumped, startled at the sudden brusque command, and turned in his direction – after, Oreyn noted with a twinge of approval, hastily closing the door.

Now that she was no longer half-hidden by the door, he was able to take a better look at her gear, and what he saw didn’t impress him much. Battered leather armour barely holding together at the seams, some kind of a threadbare hood that concealed her face in shadow and would probably do more harm than good in a fight, boots that had seen better days, _or decades_ , he found himself adjusting his initial assessment at the sight of the other one. A plain iron sword at her hip, and a nondescript longbow that looked to be in slightly better condition than the rest of her. A quiver half-full of arrows, some of them iron, some steel, and some the gods only knew what. _A scrapper. I suppose she is wanting to join after all_ , Oreyn concluded irritably, lifting his gaze to her face. 

_Dunmer_ , he almost groaned aloud at the sight of a pair of wide red eyes staring straight at him and meeting his gaze warily but without blinking. A countryman, then, or a countrywoman in this case. She had no way of knowing their shared ancestry wasn’t going to do her any favours in this guild hall, but Oreyn was well aware that his people tended towards opportunism, and no doubt this slip of a girl was already running potential scenarios of how to cash in on the situation through her brain. It wouldn’t be the first time a dark elf had sauntered in here, thinking dark skin and red eyes and a friendly grin would get them on the Champion’s good side without further ado and give them a leg up towards a quick promotion.

Too bad Oreyn didn’t _have_ a good side. Quite a few people had learned that the hard way, and very quickly.

“My apologies for dawdling at the door. I was… distracted”, the stranger spoke, her voice pleasantly low but a little raw as if from lack of use – or from illness. The slight cough she gave at the end hinted at the latter, and Oreyn found himself wishing whatever she had wasn’t contagious. He straightened in his chair as the girl took a few hesitant steps closer. Something told him it was mostly so she wouldn’t need to speak quite so loudly. “Azzan of Anvil instructed me to come to Chorrol and speak with Vilena Donton about joining the guild. Would you happen to know where I might find her?”

Hearing her speak, and now getting an even better look at her, Oreyn found himself having to adjust his initial impression just a bit. Well, perhaps more than just a bit. First of all, she was clearly not some unschooled ragamuffin from the nearest gutter, as one might have thought based on her ragged appearance. Street rats had no manners, yet here she was being exceedingly polite despite Oreyn barking at her. He could also have sworn she’d had a lesson or ten in speechcraft. Oreyn was suddenly intrigued at the strange contrast.

Secondly, she was no child. Seeing her at the door, Oreyn had immediately pegged her as a youngster, and young she was, but then everyone here was young compared to him. She was hardly a girl, though. The faint crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes spoke of several decades lived… and the look in those red orbs told him in no uncertain terms that she’d seen what life had to offer and not all of it had been pleasant. He frowned, a question on his lips, but then thought better of it. What did it matter who she was or where she came from? If she was to join the guild, he’d find out soon enough anyway, and if not, he would likely never see her again after this day. 

Oreyn knew Vilena was upstairs right now, and even though she’d delegated some of her duties to him after her son’s death, she still interviewed each and every potential recruit herself. For him, deciding what to do with the stranger standing in front of him was simple enough. Even had Oreyn been of a mind to tell her to get out and stop bothering him and the guildmaster, he wouldn’t have done so. It wasn’t really any of his business what this stranger wanted with Vilena, and if she was here to join the guild like she’d said, well then, fair enough. Far be it from him to deny membership to anyone who wanted in, especially these days when new recruits were few and far between. The job itself served to cull the herd, so to speak, and those who weren’t cut out to be real fighters would either leave when things got hard or be cut down on the job. A harsh reality, but there it was. Being a member of the Fighters’ Guild wasn’t all glory and fame, and it took a great deal of work, most of it tough and unpleasant, to rise to a rank worth boasting about over a tankard of ale.

This one might not have been prime material, but she was hardly the worst Oreyn had seen over the long years of his life. She’d also managed to surprise him, which definitely wasn’t something that happened every day. And, what it all boiled down to, it was not his place to tell her yea or nay.

So he inclined his head towards Vilena’s office. “Top floor. And mind your manners”, the warning came automatically, although he was pretty sure it wasn’t needed this time. A woman whose weapons and armour had been new once upon the time of the Ayleids, but whose words spoke of tutoring and education, was not going to give the guildmaster insult.

“My thanks”, the stranger gave him a small, polite nod and headed towards the stairs. Offering no further comment or instruction, Oreyn watched her go, and for the first time in a long while his mind was occupied with something other than the guild’s alarming decline. _Who is she?_


	2. Chorrol - Fighters' Guild

### Chapter 2

_…in which our Champion learns some things about the new guildmate he did not anticipate._

Like all elves, Dunmer had sharp ears and were generally none too shy about using this to their best advantage. Oreyn, however, frowned on eavesdropping and preferred to go about his business in a more straightforward manner. He detested scheming, would much rather hear a brutal truth than a well-meaning lie, and did not look kindly on any violation of personal privacy in the guild… but if, despite his principles, he now found himself trying his damnedest to hear what was being said upstairs, well, he _was_ just a man, and by the Divines, he had to admit he was curious.

Unfortunately for him, two floors was just too great a distance to make out anything except the familiar cadence of the guildmaster’s voice and the considerably softer tones and the occasional dry cough of the newcomer. Any hope of overhearing what was actually going on up in the loft was lost when the back door banged open, admitting the gro-Baroth brothers, taciturn Kurz and boisterous Lum. Kurz held the rank of Warder, and Oreyn had sent him on a job to an Ayleid ruin near the Imperial City just two days prior. Lum, while a trainer and not strictly a member of the guild, had insisted on tagging along as always when his brother was sent out on a solo mission. Their arrival instantly set Oreyn’s priorities straight. The job he’d assigned to Kurz had not sounded like a particularly hazardous one, but he’d learned – by Oblivion, the entire _guild_ had learned – that underestimating anything involving Ayleid ruins was a recipe for disaster.

“Well? How did it go in Vilverin?” Oreyn was immediately all business, not even bothering with greetings save for a small nod for each of the brothers. The guild had been contracted by some high-and-mighty Altmer in the Imperial City to clear out a bunch of thugs who’d turned the ruins into their personal bandit hideout, and the pay was good. Apparently, the Altmer noble wanted to send people down there to explore and hunt for treasure, and the bandits were _inconveniencing_ him. Oreyn didn’t know any more than that, but then again, he didn’t need to. They’d been hired to perform a job, and that was all. Too many questions would ensure that the client took his business elsewhere the next time, so as long as Oreyn could be sure the assignment involved nothing illegal, he wasn’t interested in the details and knew for a fact the gro-Baroth brothers shared his views. From the look of grim satisfaction on Kurz’s face and the wide grin Lum was sporting, they’d accomplished what they’d set out to do.

“Fine”, Kurz, shrugging, gave it to him bluntly as was his way. Lum, on the other hand, barked a thundering laugh and went on in his booming voice to describe, in gory detail, how he and his brother had stormed in and made short work of the startled bandits before they knew what hit them. Lum had to be the most easy-going orc Oreyn had ever met, but even if his happy-go-lucky attitude towards everything sometimes made the seasoned Champion grind his teeth, Lum’s good cheer was something the guild was in desperate need of these days. Even the newer recruits were starting to suspect not everything was well, and if anyone beyond Protector rank hadn’t picked up on the guild’s unexplained decline, they should never have been promoted in the first place. _We really should recruit Lum officially. He’s an excellent trainer, but I’d much rather have him as a full member. Keeping him on a tighter leash might also be easier if he were officially under my command. I should have a word with Vilena_ , Oreyn mused, making a mental note to himself to do just that once he’d gotten rid of the orcs.

Oreyn cut the loquacious Lum short before the debrief could morph into a full-blown saga, paid Kurz what he was owed, and sent the brothers to get cleaned up and get some rest. There were no pending contracts he could have assigned to a Warder anyway, so it was as good a time as any for the boys to get some real sleep for a change.

The two orcs disappeared into the basement. Oreyn heaved a sigh, running a tired hand through his mohawk. Somehow the days just kept getting longer and longer.

“Ahem”, someone cleared their throat right next to him, and Oreyn whirled around, his hand instinctively seeking the handle of his mace. He was astonished to see the stranger who’d just asked to speak with Vilena standing at the bottom of the stairs not three feet from him, looking even more nervous than before, if that was even possible. _How did she creep up on me like that?_ Oreyn thought with no small amount of shock. True, he’d been talking to the gro-Baroth brothers and Lum, in particular, excelled at drowning all other noise under his own chatter, but still this stranger shouldn’t have been able to take an experienced veteran like Oreyn completely by surprise. _I must have been more preoccupied than I thought!_

“Yes, what is it?” he collected himself with commendable effort and fixed the newcomer with a piercing stare. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, instead letting her gaze roam around the guild hall nervously. Oreyn couldn’t help thinking that, for all the world, she looked as if she was scanning the room for the closest escape should things turn sour and necessitate a quick getaway. 

“The guildmaster accepted me as a member of the Fighters’ Guild”, she told him in quiet tones. Oreyn nodded curtly; he had not really expected anything else. Vilena knew just as well as he that the guild’s situation was verging on catastrophic and they needed new blood desperately. “She also told me to see Modryn Oreyn about practical matters. You… you are Oreyn, sir?” she asked, her eyes coming to rest on his face for a fraction of a second before continuing their restless examination of the room. That single look was heavy with fatigue and something else Oreyn couldn’t quite put his finger on. It was obvious, though, that this Dunmer woman had been through a lot recently.

“Obviously”, he snapped at her nevertheless. It figured that Vilena had sent the new recruit straight back to him. The guildmaster had much to do and even more that weighed on her right now, and she could not be expected to show every new face the ropes herself. Still, even knowing this, it irked him a bit that by default he was always the one who got to take the rookies in hand and explain the daily workings of the guild to them. For the most part, new kids tended to be excitable and generally far too starry-eyed about their new membership to actually listen to a word he said, and if there was something Oreyn really hated, it was not being listened to. He could delegate, of course, but the only guild member presently in Chorrol who was advanced enough to be trusted with any serious responsibility was Kurz gro-Baroth, and… no. Just no. It was best for everyone involved if Oreyn just swallowed his resentment like the bitter pill it was and got on with the job he’d been assigned.

He started by explaining to the newcomer how the contract system worked and how she might expect to advance and earn promotions as she completed her assignments; basic things everyone in the guild needed to know if they wanted to get anywhere. “Azzan in Anvil you are already familiar with”, he looked at her, receiving a tiny nod of confirmation. “He often has contracts suitable for low-ranked members, as does Burz gro-Khash in Cheydinhal. Both of them may also… Yes, what is it?” he barked at the sound of the new recruit clearing her throat again, irritated at having been interrupted mid-sentence.

“My apologies, I’m a little…” She got no further before a violent bout of coughing nearly made her double over in obvious discomfort. Oreyn was instantly on high alert – by the Divines, she _was_ sick!

He had no choice in the matter; letting her collapse right there in the guild hall was not an option, and she clearly needed help. Stepping closer, Oreyn took hold of her by the elbow, placed his other arm around her waist and supported the nearly incapacitated Dunmer woman as they made their way towards the table. By the time he had her settled on a chair and pulled himself another one, the worst of her coughing fit had passed, and she gratefully accepted the mug of water he pushed her way.

He had to ask. “Are you ill? Do you need a healer? I’m sure the healer at the Chapel of Stendarr… or perhaps one of the mages, maybe Angalmo or Athragar…” he spoke quickly, running possible options through his head. He was fairly sure Gureryne Selvilo at the chapel was fairly proficient in the healing arts, and to his knowledge all priests could also heal to some degree. And if none of those soft-handed layabouts next door had mastered a decent Restoration spell, they had no business calling themselves mages. Concerned, Oreyn peered at the Dunmer woman’s face, still mostly concealed under her threadbare hood, and was met with a pair of enormous, exhausted, _frightened_ red eyes and a quick, insistent shake of her head.

“No, healers cost an arm and a leg, and I cannot afford…” she paused to take a breath and a sip of water. After a moment, she took another sip, drew another breath, and Oreyn saw a tiny flicker of a relieved smile on her lips. She turned back to him and spoke quietly, obviously calmer now that her breath was coming more easily. “No healer is necessary. Thank you for your concern, sir, but I’m not really sick. Just breathed in a great deal of smoke in Kvatch and singed my lungs, and then caught a slight cold walking here from Bruma. I’ll be well in no time.”

She’d been to Anvil and Bruma recently, then. That was indeed quite a walking distance, and, _Wait, Kvatch? She’s been to Kvatch?_ Like everyone else in Chorrol, Oreyn had heard some very outlandish tales about Kvatch recently, but the Imperial he’d first heard talking about Oblivion gates opening right on top of the town had been drunker than anyone he’d ever seen in his entire life, so he hadn’t believed a word of the gibberish the man had been spouting. Of course, other stories, told by other people – most of them inebriated to some degree as well – had started to circulate shortly afterwards, and there were too many similarities in the tales for Oreyn to dismiss them all as drunken ramblings. But still… Oblivion gates? _Daedra?_ Well, perhaps this newcomer to their guild might be able to clear up some of those rumours and put a stop to the endless speculation drifting in from the street. It would be good to hear some news from the mouth of someone who was sober for a change.

“The guildmaster said…” the Dunmer woman started speaking again, then made a helpless gesture towards the table with her hand, swallowing the rest of what she’d been going to say. Oreyn stared at her, not having the faintest idea what she was about. “Would you mind if I…”

Suddenly he understood, and for the first time since she’d walked through the front door, Oreyn was able to read her clearly. It was like a bolt of lightning from a cloudless sky – why her eyes looked so huge in her face, why she seemed a bit hazy around the edges somehow. She was _hungry_ , and more than that, she had been weakened to such a degree by her hunger that she could barely stand. Oreyn had felt hunger like that. He knew what it was like, having a beast gnawing at your insides until you were completely numb, and had suffered through it many times in the long, lean years of his youth. He didn’t know the first thing about this Dunmer woman but suddenly felt a tidal wave of sympathy towards her, helplessly, irrationally angry at the cruel twists of fate that had forced her to experience such misfortune. Hunger like that wasn’t something he would wish on his worst enemy.

“When was the last time you had something to eat?” he asked quietly, doing his damnedest to keep his voice gentle and his pity from showing. What in the world had happened to this stranger, that she’d found herself in Kvatch of all places and then ended up half-starved and frozen on his doorstep?

“Two days ago, I think”, she replied with a sigh, but then visibly drew herself together and straightened proudly in her chair. Rarely had Oreyn seen anyone pull up their defences so quickly. “But I am no beggar, I swear to you I’ll pay”, her eyes flashed defensively as she gave him a quick, sharp look, like a glancing blow.

“Does this look like the Grey Mare to you?” Oreyn instinctively snapped with his usual bite. She flinched, shying away from him, and the fire in her eyes went out as quickly as it had appeared.

“Sorry, I’ll just… I’ll just get out of your hair, then. Where is this Grey Mare? Perhaps I can do some odd jobs there to pay for room and board”, she mumbled, turning away and half-rising from her chair. Oreyn just stared at her, dumbfounded, and then realised she’d completely misunderstood him.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” he put up his hand, motioning for her to sit back down. With the other one, he grabbed the nearest clean plate and pushed it over to her. When she just stared at him, uncomprehending, he realised he was going to have to explain. “What I meant is that you can keep your septims”, he told her in quiet, serious tones. “You are a member of the guild now. We look after our own.” And with that, he spread his arms, indicating that she could help herself to anything on the table. There wasn’t much – the morning meal had already been served, and there were just some slices of cold beef, a crust of bread and assorted fruit and vegetables left, but after some initial hesitation the Dunmer woman decided to believe him and fell on the scraps like a ravenous she-wolf, not caring a whit if someone had already taken a bite of her apple before sinking her teeth in it. Oreyn said not a word, simply watching her pensively and, after a while, pouring her a cup of wine and topping up his own glass. She took the cup but paid no attention to him for a good long while, too focused on the food on her plate and in her mouth to register anything else.

It took some time, but when she was finally finished, she glanced up at him and an embarrassed blush the shade of monkshood slowly coloured her cheeks. “Sorry. I’m not usually such a troll at the table, but…”

“No need to explain”, Oreyn shrugged off the apology. “You can impress us with your table manners later. What I was trying, and obviously failing, to say before is that guild membership is more than just empty words for us. You do your part, perform the tasks you are given and represent the guild with honour, and we’ll look after you. Who do you think this food was for? There are, what, five beds up there on the second floor – who do you suppose sleeps in them? As a member, you can eat, sleep and train here as long as you keep your end of the bargain.”

Oreyn could see how understanding slowly dawned on her face. For the briefest moment, she looked like she was going to cry, but it might have been just a trick of the light, since in the next moment she was perfectly composed and avidly listening to his continued explanation about guild policy and things she might expect in return for her service. When he was done, the new recruit nodded thoughtfully, giving him a small, tight-lipped smile. “It seems I truly made the right choice, then, when I decided to try my luck with the Fighters’ Guild. Thank you. I will repay this kindness.”

“No need for melodrama. Like I said, do your part and we’ll do ours. That’s about as much as anyone can expect”, Oreyn replied brusquely, the intense look in her eyes suddenly making him rather uncomfortable. Their new member had a strange way about her, appearing shy and frightened as a mouse in one moment and fierce and proud as a mountain lion in the next. “How about I give you a tour of the guild’s living quarters so you can get settled? We can discuss your training and jobs and duties tomorrow.”

They took the stairs to the second floor, and Oreyn told her that she could pick any bed and chest that weren’t currently taken and call them her own for as long as she was staying in Chorrol. “It’s all so… open, though”, she muttered, her earlier confidence all but gone again. Sweet Azura, it was like there were two completely different people sharing her skin! However, this wasn’t the first time Oreyn had heard _that_ particular complaint, and he had to admit it was understandable coming from a female newcomer.

“There is little privacy in the guild hall, I give you that, but no one is going to bother you. You have my word on this. Anyone caught stealing from or otherwise harassing another guild member is expelled immediately. That kind of behaviour is not tolerated here.” His voice must have carried some conviction and authority, because after but a moment’s hesitation the newcomer nodded, accepting that he meant what he said and could probably, or at least possibly, be trusted.

“I’ll leave you to it. When you’ve settled down and rested, come see me and we’ll discuss the next step. And don’t worry”, he added after a moment because somehow he felt it was needed, “you’ll be safe here.”

He turned to go, but then remembered one last thing when he was almost at the stairs. He turned back to face her and saw that she’d already picked a bed for herself and was sitting on it, gingerly pulling off her boots. The bed she’d chosen was one of those facing the stairs to the Master’s office, tucked away in the corner. “I almost forgot – I didn’t catch your name before. What are you called?”

“Valay”, she answered, looking up at him from her place on the bed. “Valay Dreth.”

Oreyn gave her one last nod and returned downstairs. She needed to rest, and it was high time he returned to his own duties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The purpose of this chapter is mostly to set the scene and lay the foundation for future events.


	3. Chorrol - Fighters' Guild

### Chapter 3

_…in which our Champion has a word with the guildmaster about their new recruit._

Oreyn slowly made his way up the stairs several hours later, having done battle with the paperwork and emerged, if not quite victorious, at least still alive and breathing. He’d also handed out a relatively simple contract – the last one he had – to a Journeyman and debriefed another who’d managed to get rid of a pack of wolves terrorising a farm near Cheydinhal without getting herself killed or even badly mauled in the process. Now he needed to speak to Vilena about recruiting Lum gro-Baroth to the guild once and for all, and then he might finally be able to call it a day and retire to his house for a blessedly solitary, hopefully uninterrupted meal and perhaps a bit of quiet reading. Tomorrow was a new day, and by the Divines he’d need all the rest he could get.

Passing through the second floor on his way up to the guildmaster’s loft, Oreyn glanced briefly at the bed in the corner housing their latest recruit. Judging by the small lump tightly wrapped in the simple woollen blanket, the Dunmer woman was down for the count. She didn’t even stir as Oreyn walked past and turned to take the final stairs to Vilena’s office.

The guildmaster was sitting at her desk, seemingly making her way through a pile of reports, but to Oreyn it looked more like she was just staring at the papers without actually seeing them. _Thinking about Vitellus again, no doubt_ , Oreyn thought with glum resignation, then cleared his throat to get her attention.

“Modryn! What can I do for you?” Vilena’s eyes snapped up from her papers at the sound, and she gave him a small, cordial smile. She would have seemed all business to someone who didn’t know her, but Oreyn could see, clear as day, that his guildmaster was fraying at the seams. She _seemed_ sharp, but what she was in truth was sharp edges. The kind left behind when something fragile was shattered. While her grief was still so raw, Vilena was in no condition to lead the guild and stop the slow downhill slide they’d all been pushed into, but the everyday routine of coming to the guild hall and at least pretending to be working seemed to be keeping her head above water at least, and Oreyn just couldn’t find it in himself to take that away from her. He wasn’t going to be the one to suggest she step down unless things got truly desperate.

So, for now, they’d both go on pretending the hole in their rapidly sinking boat wasn’t there, and behind the scenes Oreyn would keep on bailing like a maniac.

Why had he come up here again? Right. “I was thinking it’s about time we had a talk with Lum. For all intents and purposes, he’s a member of the guild already and follows Kurz on nearly every mission even though he doesn’t get paid to do it. It’s high time he joined for real”, Oreyn went straight to the point as was often his way. Beating around the bush was something that drove him crazy when others did it, so he rarely stooped to it himself unless he was exceptionally nervous, and he was never exceptionally nervous.

There was no denying he was living on his nerves these days, but that was completely different.

“ _That’s_ what you wanted to talk about?” Vilena gave him a strange look, then shrugged and lowered her gaze back to her papers, shuffling them around a bit and making some effort to actually look like she was reading. “Feel free to recruit him if he’s amenable, but you _do_ know I’ve already asked him to join a handful of times? He’s turned me down flat every single time, but if you think you’ll have better luck persuading him, go right ahead.”

Oreyn _hadn’t_ known that, actually, but somehow wasn’t all that shocked. Lum and responsibility often didn’t inhabit the same plane of existence, so it came as no surprise he’d told Vilena no. That wasn’t going to stop Oreyn from trying again, though. He’d just need to give some more thought to how exactly he was going to turn Lum’s head. 

The guildmaster took a quill and made a note to the margin of the paper she was currently examining, then put down her writing tools and focused on Oreyn again. “Young master gro-Baroth aside, I’d much rather talk about our latest recruit. What do you make of her, Modryn?”

He had, in fact, been expecting this on some level. The newcomer had made something of an impression on him in a matter of minutes, and it would be foolish to assume she hadn’t had the same effect on Vilena. Grieving or not, the guildmaster wasn’t _blind_ , and there was definitely something… different about their new recruit. Oreyn wasn’t sure yet if it was a good or a bad kind of different, but he supposed they’d find out for themselves soon enough.

“There’s more to her than meets the eye, but she seemed… sincere”, Oreyn chose the first word that came to him, and found it accurate enough. He kept his voice low just in case the Dunmer woman wasn’t really sleeping, although from the look of things a minute ago it didn’t seem very likely. “Like joining the guild was something she really wanted. Her weapons are all old and worn and in need of sharpening and repair, but Sabine has been complaining of not having enough to do anyway, so I’ll have her take care of it. It’s anyone’s guess if she actually has any weapons skills or experience, but I’ll assess her when she’s…” He inadvertently found himself glancing over his shoulder in the direction of the stairs and her bed, which lay just out of sight, “…feeling better”, he concluded with a small shrug.

“Yes, about that. She had quite a nasty cough, didn’t she”, Vilena frowned slightly. “Poor thing looked like she’d caught a bad cold. Should we ask a healer to take a look, just in case?”

“I asked, but she claimed she wasn’t sick. Said something about breathing in too much smoke in Kvatch, actually”, Oreyn said. Divines, after hearing all the rumours the very name of the town left a sour taste in his mouth. The guildmaster’s eyebrows shot up at that bit of news – evidently the newcomer hadn’t been quite as free with her explanations with Vilena as she’d been with him.

“ _Kvatch?_ Is that so”, Vilena murmured, and to his surprise, Oreyn saw something of the old spark ignite in the guildmaster’s eyes. She, too, had to have heard the wild rumours circulating on the streets. “I would be most interested in hearing any news she might be willing to share. But let her rest for now, the poor thing. She looked like she was at the absolute end of her endurance when she came up here to speak with me. You did give her something to eat, yes?”

Oreyn nodded. “She inhaled most of the leftovers from lunch. The girl’s half-starved, Master. If she’s to be of any use to the guild, we’ll need to put some meat on her bones first or she won’t have the strength to hold a sword, much less swing one.”

“Then that is what we shall do. Get the girl back on her feet and then find out what she’s made of. I know the guild hasn’t been faring well lately, Modryn, but we’re not so badly off that we can’t feed one small elf for a few days even if she turns out to be unsuited for our line of work. We aren’t _destitute_ , after all.”

 _Yet_ , Oreyn thought glumly. _We’re not destitute yet, but give it a few more months._

“And please don’t give me that doomsday look”, Vilena sighed, exasperated. “I know what you’re thinking and I’m not saying you’re entirely off the mark, but things will get better. They will because they must, and because the alternative doesn’t bear thinking about. Now, for Mara’s sake, go home and get some sleep, Modryn. It’s been a rough day for all of us, and I feel tired just looking at you.”

Oreyn nodded and excused himself, as there really wasn’t anything else for him to do. Going down the stairs to the second floor, his gaze drifted towards the newcomer’s corner again. He paused, hand on the rail, and stood there just watching her for a while. No longer a small, shapeless lump on the narrow cot, she’d emerged from under the blanket and was now lying on her side, one hand under her chin and the other hanging limply over the side of the bed. She’d removed that ratty old hood she’d been hiding under, and Oreyn no longer had to wonder why she’d chosen to wear such concealing headgear. To call her a redhead would have been the understatement of the year. The half-undone braid that partly concealed her face was both sweaty and dirty, but it was still the purest, deepest copper Oreyn had ever seen. Hair like that would make her stand out like a beacon and be instantly recognisable anywhere. It was no wonder she kept it covered.

She was, Oreyn noted with a hint of a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes, drooling on the pillow. He’d have said she was completely out cold, but that wouldn’t even have begun to describe her present state of unconsciousness. Had a battalion of orcs launched a party downstairs, he didn’t think she’d have been disturbed by it.

She’d obviously felt safe enough to sleep here. She’d been jumpy and skittish like a spooked deer, but she’d chosen to trust him when he’d told her she would come to no harm inside these walls. The thought warmed Oreyn unexpectedly. With a tiny smile on his weathered, careworn face, he continued downstairs and exited the guild hall, quietly closing the door behind him. 

This was the first time in weeks he didn’t feel like a complete failure at the end of the day. Strangely enough, she, by simply appearing as if carried to his doorstep by a vagrant breeze, was already causing ripples in the stagnant pool that was the Fighters’ Guild. By needing help and accepting help, she had somehow managed to help him in return.


	4. Chorrol - Fighters' Guild and beyond?

### Chapter 4

_…in which our Champion finally gets an idea of the new recruit’s skills._

She slept for two days straight.

She slept through two days of people trudging and clomping up and down the stairs, hollering greetings and exchanging news and gossip, sharpening blades and testing bowstrings, slamming doors and shouting at each other to stop slamming doors, slurping and slobbering their way through multiple meals and, in the case of Kurz and Lum, engaging in a brotherly brawl that probably made people in the Imperial City pause for a moment and look around to see where all the noise was coming from.

She slept, and Oreyn let her. He could have rousted her from bed in any number of ways for any number of reasons and would have been totally within his rights to do so, but he didn’t have the heart to disturb her. Maybe his years were finally creeping up on him and starting to soften him up, but the very thought of forcibly waking up someone who was clearly so very tired felt… distasteful. Unfair. It was obvious to anyone with a functional pair of eyes that the Dunmer woman wasn’t just lounging about, she really _needed_ that rest, and Oreyn had already decided to put off testing her until she was well enough to perform on her true level, whatever that turned out to be. So he let her sleep. He could justify it to himself. It wasn’t as if she was getting in anyone’s way or taxing their resources beyond occupying a small corner of the guild hall, anyway.

On the morning of the third day, a painfully thin, red-headed wraith slunk timidly down the stairs and gave a shy, embarrassed smile to Oreyn, who was sitting at the table enjoying a simple breakfast of bread and fruit. When prompted to take a seat and dig in, she chose the chair across from him and proceeded to put away an amount of oatmeal that would have impressed even the gro-Baroth brothers. Oreyn wordlessly handed her a goblet of wine he’d laced with a health potion when her attention was fully on her food, and after taking one ladylike sip, she glanced at him and downed it in a few gulps. “I’m feeling a great deal better, sir”, she told him briskly after pushing away a perfectly clean bowl, her eyes looking bright as polished rubies. “I’ll just get my weapons from upstairs, and then I’ll be ready for training or whatever duties you wish to assign to me.”

Oreyn just nodded, making his way through his own breakfast at a more leisurely pace. The new recruit disappeared upstairs. When half an hour had passed and she still hadn’t returned, Oreyn stood up from his seat, calmly cleaned up after himself, and climbed the stairs to the second floor to take a look.

With a small smile, he took note that she’d actually managed to pull her leather armour on before the full belly and the medicine in her wine had caught up with her. She lay curled up on the bed, wearing one boot and holding on to the other, dead to the world again. Oreyn gently pulled the boot from her weak grip, covered her with a blanket, and went back downstairs to get started with his day.

She slept for another six hours, but when she finally emerged in the afternoon, Oreyn was pleased to note that she seemed a lot more focused, and the look she gave him was nothing short of _sharp_. That was a marked improvement from the brittle brightness he’d witnessed this morning, even if that biting edge was now directed at him. She’d obviously figured a few things out and was – quite correctly, too – placing the blame at his feet.

“Feeling better now?” he asked in wry tones before she got the chance to launch into a tirade. Judging by the glare she was levelling at him, she had a few choice words saved up just for high-handed Fighters’ Guild Champions who thought they knew best, but right now Oreyn didn’t want to hear them. Slipping her a health potion when she clearly needed one but was too proud to ask might have been borderline dishonourable and a bit of a gamble, but… oh well, Oreyn might not have been entirely immune to the devious streak most Dunmer seemed to have – and it had been necessary. He was her superior now, responsible for her well-being and intent on ensuring it, whether she liked it or not. It was starting to look like Guild brothers and sisters were a dying breed, but Oreyn was going to do whatever it took to turn the tide on that account. Valay Dreth was under his command and he was going to make damn sure she stayed that way, and that was the end of it as far as he was concerned.

Besides, it had worked, hadn’t it. She looked a good sight better and hadn’t coughed or even so much as cleared her throat since she’d woken up from her little nap. His question did take the wind out of her sails, at any rate. She opened her mouth angrily, glaring at him, but then hesitated and visibly deflated. “…Yes, sir. Much better, in fact”, she grudgingly admitted, although it was clear to Oreyn that it took some effort. She was a proud one, that much was plainly obvious, and showing signs of being downright prickly when annoyed. _Good. She’ll need that fire if she’s to survive and make her way up through the ranks._

“Good. Let’s get started then, boot. First, we need to do something about those weapons of yours and get you fitted into some proper armour. Go into the field like that, and it’ll be the last we ever see of you”, he gave a pointed look at her worn armour and badly scuffed boots. She flushed but offered no commentary beyond a tiny huff. At least she wasn’t in denial about the condition of her gear. “Fortunately for you, we have an excellent blacksmith here at the guild, and more swords and axes than people to swing them. Go see Sabine Laul in the basement, she’ll fix you right up. When you’re finished, come to the backyard and we’ll see what you can do.”

By the time she stepped into the soft afternoon sunlight, Oreyn had everything prepared and was engaging in casual banter with Lum gro-Baroth and Honditar. The woods-wise Altmer scout and the Fighters’ Guild had an agreement of sorts that had turned out to be profitable for both parties – Honditar was allowed free use of the targets and practice dummies the guild had in their backyard, and in return he kept the guild’s larder stocked with rabbit and venison. Not only was Honditar the finest hunter in town but also quite well-informed and more than willing to share any news he came by out in the wilds. He was usually the first to know if anything untoward happened in the vicinity of Chorrol, and as he was not prone to spicing up his tales with exaggeration, the news he brought could generally be trusted. While they were not exactly friends, Oreyn found he didn’t mind the Altmer’s presence at the guild and could tolerate his company better than that of most others.

“There you are”, Oreyn turned at the sound of the door creaking. Giving the new recruit a quick once-over, he was pleased to see that Sabine still did not disappoint. The Dunmer woman was now wearing a simple, unadorned leather armour that nevertheless showed signs of expert craftsmanship, sturdy leather greaves and a decent pair of boots. She was also carrying her own bow and quiver, and one of Sabine’s short swords. Her copper hair was in a neat braid, although a stubborn strand seemed to be constantly trying to escape it. All in all, she looked like a proper recruit now.

Lum was instantly all over her, but it was only to be expected. “Greetings! I’m Lum gro-Baroth, the cheerful brother! My brother, Kurz? He’s not so cheerful”, the huge orc introduced himself with his usual lack of decorum, a wide grin on his face. Oreyn fought the urge to roll his eyes at Lum’s antics. For a moment, he wondered if their new recruit… _Valay, was it? Yes, I believe it was…_ would balk at being crowded by a shirtless orc the size of a house, but although she looked startled for an instant, she recovered quickly, stood her ground and returned the greeting.

“Good to meet you, Lum. The cheerful brother, is it? I’m Valay Dreth, and I’m… very new to this”, she gave Lum a tiny, sheepish grin, which made the orc laugh and clap her on the shoulder amicably. Oreyn couldn’t help but wince. It was a point in her favour that she didn’t end up face down on the ground – Lum’s gestures of friendship weren’t exactly _gentle_.

They’d have more than enough time to get acquainted later, though. “Now then, let’s get to business”, Oreyn clapped his hands together and stepped in before Lum’s exuberance could overwhelm her too much. There was a reason he’d told their new recruit to come here, after all. “I want to see what you can actually do in a fight.”

...Less than he'd hoped, but more than he'd expected, as it turned out.

Valay proved to be passable with a short sword but had little skill with axes and none at all with blunt weapons. Anything heavier than a mace was absolutely out of the question and Oreyn didn’t even bother testing if she could wield a two-handed blade. The bow, however, turned out to be her best weapon by far. She was clearly mostly self-trained, but even so she was a much better shot than Oreyn had ever been, and he could see Honditar’s eyebrows slowly climbing higher and higher on his face as she hit the targets one after the other. At first, Honditar stayed in the background just watching, but it did not take very long for the Altmer to give in to temptation and step in. Even then, he remained a perfect gentleman and only offered a piece of advice here and another tip there, suggesting that she might lift her elbow just a little bit higher to get better stability in her stance, or that turning just a tiny bit to the left might improve her accuracy. 

“You should think about getting a better bow, though”, Honditar told her after she’d hit the bull’s eye three times in a row under his watchful eye. The target was, admittedly, the closest one, but it was still quite a feat. Oreyn knew for a fact _he_ couldn’t have done it. “The one you have now is too big for you, too heavy. If we could find you one that fits your hand and got you a few lessons with Pinarus Inventius, you’d soon be a force to be reckoned with. It’s obvious you haven’t had much formal training with bows, but you have the eyes of a trained marksman”, the Altmer said with open admiration, looking down at said eyes with a soft expression that made Oreyn frown just slightly.

He said nothing, though. Why should he have? Honditar might have developed a soft spot for their new member in a matter of minutes, but the Altmer was courteous enough not to make a spectacle of himself… and there was also the fact that he was _right_. Oreyn made a mental note to himself to write a few words to Azzan the next time they corresponded about guild business. If memory served him right, Pinarus Inventius lived in Anvil, and giving Valay a nudge in his direction after she’d made some coin by completing contracts shouldn’t be too difficult.

Over the next few days, as if by an unspoken agreement, they all focused on Valay’s training. And, admittedly, fattening her up. Not that there was much else to do, but Oreyn was still pleased to see how everyone banded together on this after seeing how things stood with her. Sabine, in particular, took a shine to Valay and spent long hours at the forge crafting armour that would fit her slight frame better. Lum, of course, was best friends with her already, but it had to be said that she had kind of started to grow on them all. It was hard not to like Valay. She blossomed under their watchful eye. She was polite, undemanding, genuinely appreciative of the effort they put into her training, and eager to prove her worth. She was obviously proud but kept it on a back-burner, not allowing her pride to interfere with her training. After a cup or two of wine, she also turned out to have a sharp wit and a sardonic sense of humour Oreyn found himself responding to. _She shows promise_ , Oreyn found himself thinking day after day as she slowly transformed from a half-starved rat into a woman with energy and purpose.

Oreyn made Valay go through some drills with a mace on a daily basis but soon concluded it to be a lost cause, at least until she’d put on a bit more weight and muscle. Sword training went better, and while she didn’t stand much of a chance of beating him, she turned out to be very quick on her feet and capable of dodging nearly everything he threw at her. Lum taught her to block – at least enough to save her life in a tight spot – and Honditar, of course, suddenly started turning up every day to hone her archery skills. Not a day went by that she didn’t get a bit better at it, and even if she improved with other weapons, too, it was obvious where her true skills lay.

The real surprise, however, came two weeks after her arrival, when Kurz goaded her into a fight without any weapons at all.

It had been a tough day for all of them. The orcs were getting restless with nothing to do, and Sabine still kept complaining she’d lose her edge if she didn’t get more work. Oreyn had been in a foul mood all day after Honditar had walked into the guild hall in the morning and dropped a newspaper on the table, looking grim. _A New Guild for Fighters?_ screamed the headline, and after reading the story Oreyn would have given just about anything to get his hands on whoever had written it. Blackwood Company? Doing contracts the Fighters’ Guild wouldn’t accept? What garbage was this?! Some ragtag band of mercenaries taking jobs – any jobs – for coin, and no questions asked? The very thought left a bad taste in Oreyn’s mouth. If the guild turned down a contract, it did so for a damn good reason, and to think there were ruffians out there who’d swoop in like vultures and do that kind of dirty work as long as the pay was good… After reading the paper two more times and turning the story and its implications over and over in his head, Oreyn was so angry he was ready to chew rocks and spit the fragments all the way to Leyawiin. 

He was _still_ digesting that unwelcome piece of news at lunch and so preoccupied with his own glum thoughts that he entirely missed the point where a quiet conversation between Kurz and Valay suddenly escalated into an actual argument.

The strange thing about it was that, as far as Oreyn could tell, those two hadn’t got off on a wrong foot or anything – well, no more than could be expected, considering this was Kurz gro-Baroth they were talking about. Kurz hadn’t been as welcoming as the rest of them, but he hadn’t gone out of his way to make life miserable for Valay either. He’d treated her like he would any new recruit, in other words mostly ignored her presence altogether, needling her a bit every now and then but mostly leaving her alone. Still, when asked, he’d sparred with Valay a bit and even shown her a few useful tips with the blade. It wasn’t as if they were at each others’ throats, far from it. Considering how Kurz was normally like with anyone, the two of them were practically friends!

So what possessed Kurz to reach out halfway through the meal and push Valay so that her chair tipped over and she went sprawling to the floor with a startled yelp, Oreyn didn’t have the faintest clue. His eyes snapped up from his untouched plate to the spectacle suddenly unfolding right in front of him, an angry _Hey! Cut it out!_ on his lips. Momentarily an undignified heap on the floor, Valay sprang up with a snarl and leaped at the orc, eyes flashing and fists clenched, the image of a Dunmer woman on a rampage. “That’s it! You bully, my patience ends here! Apologise or face me and _weep and apologise_!” she hissed at him. Kurz barked a laugh, pushed back his chair and raised his own fists with insulting slowness, a lazy grin on his face as if he just couldn’t be bothered to take this seriously.

Valay landed a solid, lightning-quick punch to his nose, dancing back out of reach before the startled orc could respond in any way. _Well, he had that coming_ , Oreyn had to approve even though the whole situation was beyond his understanding. With a shout, Kurz pulled his act together and swung a fist at Valay, but she was already long gone and his fist hit only air. And, in the next moment, the fight was over. When Valay dove in next, she went straight for his ear, pinching it in a hold that even _looked_ painful and was probably much, much worse when experienced first-hand. 

Kurz certainly seemed to think so. Oreyn could have sworn by all the Divines, and some Daedra besides, that he’d never in his life heard an orc squeal like that. Kurz tried to pull away, but Valay stuck to him like a tiny, prickly burr and just wouldn’t let go no matter how violently Kurz tried to shake her off. Oreyn had frozen completely still, his jaw hanging open in undisguised astonishment, not sure if he was really seeing this or if the weeks of stress and bad sleep and worse news were finally catching up with him.

“I yield! I yield! You win! Just bloody _let go of me_ , you damn menace!” Kurz bellowed at her, pawing at his ears. Hearing him surrender, Valay released him immediately, looking slightly smug as she stepped away. She straightened her chair, took a seat like a lady, and returned to her rudely interrupted meal as if nothing had happened. Everyone stared at her. Kurz rubbed his ear vigorously in the background, muttering something undoubtedly nasty under his breath.

“That’s my girl, Valay”, Sabine said with open admiration after a moment. Valay looked up and the two women shared a quick grin.

“Just what in Oblivion was that about?!” Oreyn finally found his voice and turned on his unruly underlings in an outrage. “No, wait, I don’t really even _care_ what it was about! Fighting in the guild hall? During a meal? If we’ve fallen this far into barbarism, it’s no wonder the guild is struggling! By Azura, gro-Khash is right, this guild _is_ going to hell in a hogcart! I should demote the both of you, only you-” he glared at Valay “have no rank to lose! But you at least should know better!” he barked at Kurz, who looked a bit sheepish.

“Sorry, boss. Just a bit of a disagreement, but we’re good now, right? _Right?_ ” Kurz directed his words at Valay, who simply shrugged. She was already so calm and composed that it was hard to believe she’d been engaged in hand-to-hand combat with an orc just a moment earlier.

“I suppose we are. My apologies, sir, but it was just a bit of business that needed to be straightened out right away. It won’t happen again, you have my word on it.”

“Damn well see to it that it won’t”, Oreyn huffed, looking from Valay to Kurz and back again. He still had no idea what had actually happened there.

“Sorry. Please, get back to your meal. We’ll behave, I promise”, Valay said quietly, and he found himself staring at a pair of calm red eyes the colour of sunset. He also found that holding on to his anger had turned impossible all of a sudden. Holding on to any thoughts at all had turned impossible all of a sudden.

Oh well, as long as this was the last of it – no one had been seriously injured, and it wasn’t as if brawls were a new thing in this guild hall. He was just rather surprised to see their new recruit being a part of it.

This proved one thing without a doubt, though. His people didn’t have enough to do, and it was going to lead to more trouble unless he figured out a way to get them all some more work. The gro-Baroth brothers were a problem, but Valay… Oreyn spent a moment observing her and finally came to a conclusion. It was getting obvious that she did, in fact, know how to protect herself and had a trick or two up her sleeve. Time to see what she was really made of.

He cleared his throat. “I think it’s time for you to go to Cheydinhal and see if Burz gro-Khash might have a contract or two for you”, he gave voice to what they all must have been thinking for a while anyway. Valay’s eyes lit up and her mouth opened as a tiny, surprised breath escaped her. _Good gods, gro-Khash will have a field day with this one!_ “Get some hands-on experience, complete a couple of real contracts, and come back here when you’re a bit more seasoned”, he continued, and Valay was suddenly falling all over herself with excitement, gushing that she’d leave at first light and wouldn’t let the guild down. _See that you don’t, girl. See that you don’t._

It was the strangest thing, though. The next morning, when Valay was preparing to leave, Kurz was there to see her off. The pair of them shared a few quiet words, a grin and a fist-bump before she walked out the door. Oreyn watched her go and found himself thinking that a smile looked very strange on the orc’s face… but it was quite fetching on Valay’s.

 _You old fool, it’s the lack of sleep talking again. You haven’t gotten enough rest in a month_ , he told himself sternly and knew it to be true. Still, he had a lingering feeling he’d miss her presence while she was gone.


	5. Chorrol, Fighters' Guild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest apologies to those who might actually be keeping an eye on this fic - I got stuck, and then I got distracted. Here I am again, though, because I've got a ton of notes about this fic and it's on a slow burn at the back of my brain all the time. There will be updates, I swear, even if they are slow in coming.

### Chapter 5

_…in which our Champion receives correspondence from an old not-altogether-intolerable acquaintance._

With Valay finally dispatched to Cheydinhal to get some actual experience under her belt, Oreyn, like everyone else, got back to business as usual. He had fewer and fewer contracts to hand out, but some work still trickled in, just enough to make ends meet. By a hair. Being in the Fighters’ Guild had never been a cushy job that easily landed one in the lap of luxury, but members had at least been able to support their families properly and perhaps put a little coin aside if they were mindful of their money. Now, things were starting to look grim. They made do with what they had, but Oreyn had noticed Kurz and Lum weren’t frequenting the Grey Mare as often as they used to, and by the gods he was rapidly getting tired of stretching every septim himself.

Most days the Dunmer felt like he was physically carrying the gods-forsaken guild on his back and had, in fact, once woken up in a cold sweat after a nightmare where he’d been doing exactly that. He was no stranger to night terrors, but by Azura, he’d struggled to breathe for a good half-hour after waking up from that one.

He supposed that, in theory, he could have given it all up as a hopeless cause and resigned from his post. Gotten a job as a guard somewhere, perhaps. Still, even though he occasionally entertained the idea in the small hours of morning when sleep eluded him and all his future worries and past regrets rounded on him like a pack of wolves closing in for the kill, he found he just couldn’t do it. The guild was his life, the centre of his existence, and the place he felt he truly belonged – and there hadn’t been many of those in the long years of his life. There were also his brothers and sisters in arms to consider. There was his grieving guildmaster, who Oreyn suspected found it difficult to simply get out of bed in the morning right now. And there were the people who still came with contracts and needed someone to not only get the job done but to get it done _right_. There weren’t many, not any more, but as long as there was even one…

No, walking out and leaving it all behind wasn’t an option. It just wasn’t. He just couldn’t. Some part of Oreyn knew that if he gave up, there would be no one to pick up the pieces after him and keep the Chorrol guild hall going. So he worried and fretted in private, slept very poorly and very little, retreated into the safety of his familiar routines, and kept things running with dogged persistence that was starting to border on fanaticism. There was little else left to him now.

Somehow, lately, Valay had made things a bit easier at the guild hall without actually _doing_ much. He noticed it now that she was gone. It had lifted his spirits, and everyone else’s, to see a new recruit who showed promise. She’d been a sudden, unexpected, faint ray of hope that the Fighters’ Guild maybe wasn’t dying after all, that there were still people who wanted to join, people who might actually pitch in and help restore the guild’s status to what it used to be – what it should be. Just seeing her around the guild hall had had a calming effect on Oreyn.

A few days of her absence, and he started getting restless without really being able to put his finger on why. 

It took about a week before Oreyn was willing to even _begin_ to admit to himself that the guild hall was feeling a little empty. 

To an outsider’s eye, everything would have appeared perfectly normal, each day followed by the next with little change and little excitement. Life had a way of going on, in the guild and outside of it, and things soon settled back into their familiar, well-worn ruts just like before. 

It was just that things were not quite the same, and the one piece that was missing was bothering everyone more than it should have. Valay’s absence was like an annoying pebble inside Oreyn’s boot, a nagging sensation he couldn’t quite shake off even though he tried. It took him many days to admit it, but finally, after he’d caught himself thinking about her for what had to be the hundredth time, he caved in and grudgingly admitted she might have made just a slight impression on him. Like it or not, Valay Dreth had breathed some much-needed life back into the guild in Chorrol. 

If one disregarded the doom and gloom and constant formless panic of not enough contracts to keep the guild running, the days after Valay headed out on her own had been quiet. Very quiet. _Boring_ , even. Oreyn took some comfort in the fact that the others seemed to share his opinion, even if no one spoke of it. Sabine holed up in the basement, claiming she was busy with commissions and repairs they all knew she didn’t have. Lum was unusually morose and short-tempered, and even Kurz stalked around the guild hall complaining there wasn’t anything for an orc to do around here now that the new brat was gone and there wasn’t anyone to push around. Honditar had moped around for a day or two, looking forlorn, and then disappeared on a solitary hunting trip. Oreyn hadn’t heard from him since.

He didn’t understand it, really. Valay hadn’t done much of anything, just turned up and _needed_ them so gods-damned much that, somehow, everyone had perked up, crawled out of whatever hole they’d fallen into, and pitched in to show the newbie the ropes, to give the girl a fighting chance against the world and whatever it was she was running from. For it was obvious to them all that Valay had skeletons in her closet and a past she didn’t like to talk about. Oreyn hadn’t spoken with her all that much outside of training sessions, but from what he’d heard from others, she had a tendency to clam up when people asked her about her life before the guild. She was friendly enough, kind-spirited and appreciative of her place in the guild, but any inquiry into her private life raised up her defences instantly. She was skittish and, figuratively speaking at least, constantly looking over her shoulder, nervous that whoever – or whatever – she’d left behind had caught her scent and was gaining on her. One only needed to spend some time with her to see that she had a nervous habit of checking and mentally cataloguing the available exits in any room she entered.

Everyone had their secrets, and they all had some ghosts in their past, but Oreyn had a feeling that Valay’s might be just a little more real than those of most people.

Still, life went on at the guild. Oreyn entered the guild hall at the crack of dawn, got on with the everyday tedium of trying to make ends meet, handed out contracts if any were available, tried to come up with ways of securing new ones, trained when he could spare the time, and went home to crash at the end of the day. A few lower-ranked guild brothers and sisters came and went, looking for work or just passing through. One day a fairly lucrative contract came in from Weynon Priory, of all places, and Oreyn offered it to Viranus Donton, who almost fell over his own feet in his eagerness to accept it… until Vilena stepped in with the kind of disapproval only a mother was capable of, cowed and chastened her offspring with a few sharp words, and that was the end of it. To his astonishment, Oreyn found himself firmly overruled on the matter – Viranus was not to be handed any contracts _at all_ unless they’d been pre-approved by the guildmaster.

His head spinning, Oreyn gave the contract to Kurz instead, although clearing out a goblin-infested mine was really below a Warder’s pay grade. The orc was pleased to have something to occupy himself with, but the guildmaster’s over-protective attitude left a lingering worry Oreyn found hard to shake off. Was this how things were going to be with Viranus from now on? Really? He sincerely hoped not. The lad was eager and not a bad fighter, but he was still green and needed a bunch of completed contracts under his belt. How else was he going to build up the confidence he needed to advance in rank?

Then, about a month after Oreyn had sent Valay on her way to Cheydinhal, a courier arrived with a letter addressed to him. Instantly recognising the bold, slanted handwriting, Oreyn tipped the courier a few extra septims and hurried back inside, tearing open the seal as he went. Burz gro-Khash didn’t write letters for the love of his own eloquence. For an orc who preferred to communicate with grunts and growls, gro-Khash was in fact quite intelligent and well educated, but writing letters was something he considered a waste of parchment, ink and, most of all, his time. If he wrote, he had news to share. Sinking down in a chair, Oreyn started to read, brow creased with worry. He wasn’t even sure what he was expecting, but it had to be bad news. Lately, there hadn’t _been_ any other kind.

As it turned out, gro-Khash had quite a bit to say, and most of it about Valay.

_Oreyn,_

_Won’t bother to ask how you are or how things are going in Chorrol. The guild is going to hell in a hogcart, there’s no use sugar-coating something we all know. The new meat you sent brought a copy of the Black Horse Courier with her, and I didn’t like a word of it. You and me and Azzan should probably meet and throw around some ideas on what to do with this blasted Blackwood Company._

_Thanks for the new meat, though, she’s turning out to be not entirely useless like most of the lot you send my way. Truth is, the girl turned up asking for work and went on to complete two contracts in as many days. Crap contracts, killing mudcrabs and a stray mountain lion for a pittance, but she did the work without whining or complaining… which is a lot more than can be said about the worthless wood elf you sent here last month. DON’T EVER send whiny Bosmer to me again or I’ll send them back in a sack!_

_Anyway, your girl stayed here for a week or so after that and cleared my table of lower-level contracts. She’s done more than Keld and Ohtimbar, those layabouts who call themselves Guardians, have managed between the two them in a bloody month! Both are too damned happy to sit on their lazy arses and spin the same old yarns about their past heroics to anyone willing to listen. Ohtimbar is by far the worst, he filled the girl’s head with tales about his glory days in the Arena – what he didn’t tell her, of course, was that the minute he broke a damned fingernail he lost his taste for the fighting pits and ran home to mama. Only to be expected from a prissy sissy Altmer of course, they can’t even boil water without resorting to a spell, but by Malacath’s hammer he likes to paint himself a hero in front of Valay. Sweet on her, no doubt. Even gave her a medallion he’d supposedly won for some spectacular victory in the Arena._

_The girl took the trinket straight to Borba’s Goods and Stores, traded it in for a pretty penny and bought arrows with the cash. Haven’t laughed so much in years._

_Speaking of Valay, I’d gladly keep her here longer for the entertainment value alone, but the fact is I’ve no more work for her so I’m promoting her and sending her to Anvil in the hopes that Azzan is doing better than we are and will have some contracts. He’ll send her to you when he’s out of work, no doubt._

_B_

Oreyn put the letter down, glaring at it as if it had given him insult. It was good to know that Valay was doing well – better than well, in fact, if she had indeed completed several contracts for gro-Khash already – but there were things in the letter he was not happy to hear. Obviously, gro-Khash had picked up on the threat the Blackwood Company presented to the guild, and his idea of a meeting had merit, but the very thought of that bunch of uncouth mercenaries raised his ire and put a bad taste in his mouth. Those… those grasping, thieving scoundrels! Those dishonourable little opportunists, those… And who was this Altmer gro-Khash was maligning? _And what is it about Valay and Altmer, anyway? First Honditar falls all over himself to teach her archery, and now some former Arena champion is sweet on her? Who does he think he is, panting after her like… and… and…_ Oreyn suddenly felt deflated and tired to the bone. Why was he allowing this to unhinge him so? _What right do I have to get upset? She is just another fresh recruit, and I am nothing more than her superior. She is under my protection, yes, but hardly mine to protect. Perhaps Altmer just find her appealing, or perhaps she just likes Altmer, and if she does, who am I to judge her? She is free to do whatever she pleases, and I have no right to intervene as long as her actions do not hurt the guild._

Oreyn grabbed the letter with an irritated grunt, folded it and put it in his pocket for safekeeping. Despite everything, he couldn’t deny it felt good to have news of the new recruit. On some level he’d been worrying about her, too, and how she’d do under gro-Khash’s undeniably brusque command, so it was a load off his shoulders to hear she’d apparently fit right in, charmed the entire population of the Cheydinhal guildhall and managed to get some work done in the process. It was a long way from Cheydinhal to Anvil, but she should have arrived there by now, and Azzan would probably have more news for him soon.

In fact… Azzan was nothing if not conscientious, and he’d make sure to reply straight away if Oreyn wrote him and asked for his input on the current situation of the guild. And, perhaps, his opinion on the latest recruit.

Yes. Perhaps sending a missive of his own to Anvil wouldn’t be a bad idea at all. Writing to Azzan would at least take his mind off the problems of his own guild hall for a few fleeting moments.

**Author's Note:**

> I fell in love with prickly, ornery, chronically irritated Modryn Oreyn the first time I played Oblivion and was devastated to find out how rarely he appears in fanfiction. Something must be done. This story has been sitting at the back of my brain for years and is finally trying to emerge, so... here we are. I'm writing this mostly because I just have to get it out, but should you choose to give kudos and/or comments, I'll love you until the day I die.


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